


Stalled Glory

by FatePissOrder (poludeuces)



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Blowjobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Glory Hole, Im not tagging the rest of the guys cause i dont wanna ruin their tags, M/M, Omorashi, Piss, this is a piss fanfic! if you dont like piss you will not like this fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23712178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poludeuces/pseuds/FatePissOrder
Summary: Tristan becomes the chaldea urinal. That's literally it.
Relationships: Tristan | Archer/A Whole Lot of Guys
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Stalled Glory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoonLord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonLord/gifts).



> HI okay this is REALLY long so please keep that in mind. here are some tws  
> \- omorashi  
> \- pissing on/piss drinking  
> \- pissing in a semi-public place (a communal bathroom)   
> \- characters being turned on due to pissing with descriptions of pissing  
> \- story revolves around a glory hole  
> \- bdsm aspects  
> \- i would not say this is mind break but i'll throw it just in case  
> \- this is like a direct sequel to my tristan piss fanfic, also kind of references my paracelsus one, so if you wanna read those for extra lore, go ahead   
> final thing, i don't mean for this to come off as non-con. all characters are into piss.

As a base that staffed both heroes and humans alike, Chaldea had a bunch of bathrooms strewn around. There were big ones outside the cafeteria, and ones near the work and training rooms, and some by the servant’s rooms. A couple were designated specifically for human staff, as some of them felt a little overwhelmed by sharing a bathroom with Iskandar or Darius. Some bathrooms were available for all genders, and systems for non-human servants had slowly been implemented after Xiang Yu had been summoned and was unable to use a common washroom. 

Privacy was of the utmost importance, of course. If a servant did not feel comfortable using public washrooms, then they could always borrow Ritsuka’s washroom on their leisure, or if they were alright with a trip out into the snow, they could brave the trek. 

Plus, there were always washrooms that were less busy. Like one that was tucked away, past the janitorial closets and catalyst rooms, only really used if there was an emergency. 

It was not an emergency that pulled Tristan inside. He just simply wanted some privacy for his morning.

He had been making sure not to push himself too hard with holding. Ever since he had rather suddenly pissed his pants during a long battle, he had been slowly exploring his new found fetish with himself. He was smart to do not do anything too extreme in public, but instead focused on seeing how much liquid he could hold without doing any damage. He was pretty proud with his current streak of eight hours, but even then, he had done that on his day off, away from everyone else.

It was not difficult to find other outlets, either. There were servants in Chaldea who could give you information or material if you simply asked correctly. Osakabehime had only nodded and looked around in her stash for something appropriate, as if the request was the tamest thing in the world. 

“If you need anything drawn, by the way,” Osakabehime mentions as she stacks up some doujins, “My commission rates are pretty good.” 

“I will keep that in mind,” Tristan said. He would keep it in the back of his head, if his desire ever got worse.

And of course, there was the internet, rife with every kind of sin. He had watched as pretty-eyed girls held their palms up in front of their open lips, accepting a mouthful of the liquid gold. He had squirmed along with scantily-dressed men who held their crotches, moaning softly along with them as they finally could no longer hold, their pants getting darker and their mouths pulling into a smile. 

He had found a favourite video of his—it involved a woman and man grinding on each other’s laps, before she would suddenly piss her pants, making them both wet before he would rip them off. Tristan’s hands had moved in time on his own dick as the man on the screen pumped his dick into her, releasing into his hand as the couple orgasm.

A new trick of his would be to wake up early, before anyone else was awake, and remove all of his clothing but his boxers, and then let himself go in the shower. The feeling of his morning piss, hot and wet, that made his underwear stick deliciously to his thighs, was always enough to make him hard first thing. He would slowly slide his boxers off, relishing in the tug against his damp skin, before wrapping the cloth around his dick and masturbating with it. Once he had his morning orgasm, he would turn on the shower, watching as his morning piss—bright yellow as it always was right at the start of the day—mixed with any of his cum that had escaped his boxers, was sucked into the shower drain. 

Unfortunately for him, his morning ritual had been interrupted that day. For some odd reason, Ritsuka felt the need to get the last couple of minutes of farming in late last night, resulting in Tristan hitting the hay much later than he originally had planned. When his alarm rang that morning, he was unable to pull himself up from under the sheets. He had the day off—it would be fine.

It was now not fine. His body itched for release, and his bladder waned. He wanted to complete his routine, but the showers would be too busy at this time of day. Anyone would point out that he would be entering with his boxers on, and would ask about the sorry state of them when he exited. Furthermore, he had never been quiet—people would figure out what he was doing pretty quickly. And he had an image to uphold.

His mind racked for possible ideas and fell upon one area—the washroom that was tucked away.

If he settled himself in a certain way, he could hold his dick in his underwear and point it at the toilet bowl, and then masturbate once he was finished. Throw out the old ones, slip on new ones (he had worn two pairs just for this reason), and then spend the rest of his day doing whatever he pleased. The clean up would be minimal, he still got some piss in his life, it was a good plan if any. He was still rather miffed that he could not piss in the shower, and it was way too late in the day now for the sink, so this would, unfortunately, have to do.

And that was how he found himself in the tucked away washroom, with two pairs of underwear on. The bathroom must have been cleaned recently, as it sparkled upon his entrance. As expected, a quick look under the stalls proved his assumption—no one else used this washroom unless they needed to. He would be alone. A small smile of relief donned his lips. He could be loud if he wanted to.

There was a little rule Tristan had when it came to stalls—he always preferred using the middle one. While the urinals did look tempting, he needed privacy. There was something very tantalizing about peeing at a urinal, watching as his piss stained the dazzling white porcelain, and watching its waterfall down into the drain. Yet, he would not be able to masturbate at one, so he pushed the thought from his mind as he settled into the middle stall.

He quickly worked at removing his pants, letting them fall to the stall’s floor. They were clean enough. He carefully removed his extra pair of underwear on top of the toilet paper dispenser, so that it would not fall during everything. He then quickly worked at getting the other pair off and around his dick. He hated to admit it, but in the anticipation of what he was going to do, his dick had become erect.

But how could he not? He felt like a deviant. He had gone through so many steps of planning in order to relieve his desires. He was so used to a routine that his body desperately needed it, and he was unable to shake the unease that overtook his body when he attempted to go a day without it. He was willing to cram himself in a tight bathroom stall, his pants strewn about by his ankles, with an extra pair of underwear at the ready for clean up. Just so he could piss himself disecretly—so that no one knew what he was really doing. 

This was just secret little pleasure.

He swallowed. He was unable to piss this hard though, and would need to calm himself down a little. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out, trying his best to ignore his hand on his own dick, tightly wrapping his underwear around the head. He tried his best to think of things that could control his raging erection. Tristan bit down hard on his lip.

Sad.

He opened his eyes and they caught something in the door to his right. He furrowed his brow. It was weird…it almost looked like a dent or…

A hole?

He set his underwear down on the top of the toilet and carefully approached the hole. He stuck a finger into it, as if he would expect a mirror. But no, his finger went all the way through, and he wiggled it in the open, free air of the neighbouring stall.

Tristan slipped in another finger, then another, until he fit his entire hand into the hole. Its circumference was quite generous—perhaps if he tried, he could fit both of his hands through. He didn’t, however, knowing that if his hands got stuck, he would be in an embarrassing situation. He could only imagine the look Ritsuka would give him as he opened the stall door to find Tristan, hands bound through a hole, with his pants off and whatever excuse worked best.

He pulled his hand back through, and slowly ran his finger along the edge of the circle. The insides appeared to be of the same material as the door, soft to the touch. This was not a quick job—someone had definitely put time into this.

This glory hole.

Of course, Tristan was aware of the concept. He had seen examples from the internet (every sin, after all). He hadn’t considered that it would be something he would find at Chaldea, yet he could not say that he knew everyone’s fetish, either. Heck, he had himself not known of his own fascination with piss until he had accidentally pissed himself.

But was it used often? That was the question that racked Tristan’s mind. He had never heard of it mentioned before. He was sure he would have heard it from Lancelot of all people. 

This either meant one of two things: it was a well-kept secret, or, it was unused.

It was a good spot to have one, if at all, considering its placement. Perhaps the creator had picked it for that reason. However, it was extremely difficult for a secret to remain as such in a place such as Chaldea. Tristan had become privy to even the staff’s gossip, now knowing which staff members dated and the complicated love lives of humans.

So, it likely meant that it was unused.

Sad.

Well, was it sad? Not for Tristan! If it had been, then he would have not had the privacy required to do what he had come here to do! Yes, it would have been busy, and he would have had to explain to anyone else why he was interested in using a stall. While he was familiar with the concept, he himself would never use a glory hole for his own pleasure—a hole and nothing else? What was the fun in that?

And yet.

As his erection still made it difficult for him to piss without pain, he straightened himself up. He closed the lid of the toilet and sat down, letting it sink as he adjusted himself. Toilet seats were not the most comfortable thing to sit on, but well, just standing waiting for his dick to soften wouldn’t help much. So, he could sit and wait for his body to calm down.

He shot a glance to his left, where the glory hole now watched him. He studied it carefully. It was a rather large hole. He hadn’t considered it, but now that he thought about it, it did make sense. Berserkers were likely well-more endowed than some of the other servants. 

Tristan’s thought drifted back to the morning showers, where he had quickly glanced at the tree trunks that some of his fellow male servants were gifted with. He remembered seeing Iskandar and Napoleon fighting in the changing rooms while they were staying at Beni-enma’s hotel. They certainly did not care about showing what they had to all around them, and Tristan could only stare, watching as they swung with their movements. Man, if they were that large soft, then…

He shook his head clear of those thoughts. That wasn’t helping his erection.

He closed his eyes, focusing on anything besides the feeling of the sweet air on his dick. He tried to concentrate on the uncomfortable feeling of sitting on the toilet seat instead. Perhaps that would calm down his dick.

His eyes shot open at the sound of the door moving across the floor. 

Someone else was entering.

The footsteps stopped as they entered through, and Tristan heard the door swing softly shut. He tried his best to remain perfectly still, but alas, his cover had already been blown.

“Oh, so you’re all ready to go then?” the voice calls out to him. Tristan sees the feet as they stop in front of his stall and kick softly at Tristan’s pants, pushing them back under the door. 

Fuck, he hadn’t moved his pants off of the floor, and now they had alerted the other of his presence. 

Thankfully, he had worn something besides his regular clothes. They wouldn’t be able to tell who he was based on that. Tristan studied the other man’s feet—he was sure he recognized it. Where…where did he know them from?

“Silent type, I see,” he tuts his lips and sighs, “Well, that’s alright, I’ll give you what you want.”

He moves away from in front of the door. Tristan’s mind is going a mile a minute.

He should leave. When the other guy enters the stall, he should leave, right? He was definitely not into glory holes—and heck, he wasn’t even sure if he was into guys that much, either. He wasn’t sure who this person was, it could be some of the degenerates in Chaldea. Or perhaps a staff member. Or worse, it could be one of his fellow knights.

Once the other man had firmly settled into the other stall he would get up as quickly as possible. 

But his mind was stuck on one thing—where did he know this man from? He recognized his shoes…The voice was eerily familiar.

“You know, I didn’t make this thing,” the man says and Tristan can hear the locking noise of the stall door closing. 

He should be leaving now.

“I found it one day by accident. I rarely even used this washroom before, but ya know, when nature calls, right? And well, here it was,” he continues on. Under his voice, Tristan can hear the clinking of the man’s belt and the crumpling of fabric, “And I’ve been coming in to check every so often, but no luck.” He laughs and Tristan feels his body shake.

“Guess today was my lucky day.”

Tristan watches as a half-erect dick is thrust through the hole. 

It’s not massive, no, but it does take a considerable amount of space up. The main thing is that it is rather long, the head uncircumcised with a generous amount of a hood on the tip, and a few wrinkles. A fat vein runs up the side. It’s definitely larger than Tristan’s, which unfortunately for him, has still not gone away despite the shock.

“Ah yeah, it’s not much to write home about, really,” the voice comments, and Tristan watches as it bucks up softly. 

Tristan definitely would not say that. He’s unsure how he’s even supposed to respond.

He should be heading out.

He slips off of the toilet seat, his eyes stuck on the other man’s dick. He watches as it pulsates slightly, a fierce red. It curves nicely, too, and Tristan stares as it becomes more and more erect. 

He really should be heading out. The guy would not expect him to run off now, and he would likely be unable to catch up. Maybe Tristan could even duck into one of the janitorial closets so that he would not follow him. He could get away now.

He reaches down and…

Places his hand on the man’s dick.

A soft sigh can be heard from the other side of the hole. “I was worried you were going to bail on me…”

The dick is hot and hard in Tristan’s hand. His fingers move to the tip, pulling the foreskin down, revealing the tip and some precum that dribbles down. 

He’s jacked himself off enough to know how to do it. He spits on his hand, hoping that it will be wet enough, and slowly starts moving his hand up and down the man’s length. He readjusts himself so he is now on his knees, slowly jacking this other man off.

Tristan is rewarded with soft moans and grunts from the other. “Yes, you’re good at this.”

Compliments and praises seem to fall from his lips. “Keep it up, you’re doing good.” Tristan focuses on his voice—it’s deeper, with a hint of gravel in it. An older servant, perhaps? He looks through the hole as much as he can—his bush is a dark brown. So, he can’t be too old. He furrows his brow. 

“Are you hard, baby?” the other man asks. Tristan looks down at himself—he’s only gotten harder.

He replies by speeding up his hands. Then man’s precum acts as a good lubricant now, and Tristan watches as his dick starts to thrust against his hands.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, releasing a soft moan after that. “Do you want to touch yourself too then, darling? Go, go ahead.”

Tristan drops a hand from the man’s dick to his own. He hadn’t realized how hard he truly is until he feels his hand on his cock. He twists his hand around the tip, covering his hand in his own precum, and a soft moan escapes him.

The man growls and Tristan hears the sound of the man’s hips hitting the door. “Good, make more noises for me.”

And so, he does, releasing moans as he masturbates harder, his body hot and straining due to holding for so long. His body has been aching to cum, and now it can, and his dick strains in his own hand.

“Your voice is so cute, dripping noises from that cute little mouth of yours,” the man compliments him. He pulls his dick back, so that all Tristan can hold onto is the tip. “You’re so sexy.” He gives shallow thrusts, and Tristan watches as his head slowly pushes between his fingers.

He hears a swallow. “Please, baby, please can I use that sweet mouth?” 

Tristan licks his lips.

“You can continue to touch yourself, darling, just, give me a taste of that mouth.” He takes a sharp breath—he must be doing everything he can to not thrust his dick faster. “You’ve been doing so well, you’ve been so kind to this old man, just…please.”

He lets his hand fall down from the tip, and stops moving his hand. He watches the dick in front of him.

“Please, please,” the man starts thrusting into the open air. It’s so close to hitting Tristan’s face. If Tristan simply moved his face a little forward…

But he shouldn’t do this, right? He’s already jacked this man off, one that he doesn’t even recognize yet. He tries to ignore his weeping cock and focus on the reality of the situation—he’s on his knees, in a bathroom stall, face-full of an anonymous dick, all due to the fact that he was too perverted to masturbate in his own room. 

Unfortunately for him, this only makes him harder. 

His knees ache, and so he tries to adjust his posture. He leans a little forward, and when he does, the man’s dick presses against his lips.

“Yes…” The man must be familiar with the feeling, as he sighs in relief. 

Tristan pauses, feeling the man’s tip against his lips. It’s hot, and wet from the precum and spit, and pulsing. He looks through the hole, and sees red, sweaty skin, and distracted hands, moving anywhere to keep busy.

His hand returns to his own dick, while the other moves to hold the man’s dick steady. All he can do is look at the tip. Perhaps if he had been able to see the man, he would have held eye contact. His only respite is hearing the soft moans and his panting. He’s trying his best not to thrust, now that he’s hit home, and Tristan feels like he has earned it for his patience.

He slowly licks the tip. He savours in the saltiness on his tongue from the sweat and the precum. It’s hot and hard on his tongue, wet and delicious. He moves his tongue along the side, running his tongue along the fat vein.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” the man curses, and Tristan watches the door shake as he palms the door. “Your tongue feels so good, so good.” He sighs in relief.

Tristan licks as much as he can, bobbing his head around to catch everything in his own saliva. The dick is now wet with him, and it slides well when Tristan moves his hand along the base, slowly jacking him off. His tongue returns to the head, licking around the tip, catching any precum that leaks out. He leaves some to sit on his tongue—he cannot deny that the taste isn’t bad.

The man is patient with him, continuing to give him praises but not thrusting out further. His dick just stands, fully erect, eagerly accepting anything Tristan gives him. He must admit, this is the first time that he’s been so up and personal with another man’s dick, and so he takes his time, licking around the head and underside, going as far as he can go before being blocked by the stall door.

Finally, he opens his lips and swallows the head. It’s much larger in his mouth than he would have thought.

A loud bang resounds through the washroom as the man hits the stall door hard. “Shit babe, your mouth is so hot.”

Tristan moans around his cock and the man shudders in response. “Your moans are so good…please…”

He complies, letting more moans come out of his mouth as he takes more of him in. It pulsates in his mouth, and Tristan wonders how much he’s trying his best not to come right now. 

He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of the dick inside of his mouth. He adjusts his posture so he can move his mouth in more, slowly taking in more and more until it’s too much. He pulls back out, admiring the glistening work, before returning his mouth, swallowing him up again.

“Fuck, your mouth is so good,” the man compliments him, “How much can you get in? Can I fuck your cute little throat?”

Tristan runs his tongue against the vein in response. He pulls off once more, gathering his breath. 

He is careful, making sure not to go too quickly, as he takes more and more of him inside of his mouth. His dick is long, taking up everything, until Tristan’s cheeks press against the stall door. The man’s dick falls just at the back of his throat, tickling him. His nose flares as he tries to focus on breathing as tears pinprick at his eyes.

“Shit baby,” the man says, “You’re amazing. Look, you’ve swallowed me up to the hilt. I can feel your throat. You’re so good at this—why were you not here before? Where have you been hiding?”

Tristan moans in response.

The man’s dick feels so good. He feels so filled up. His hand curls around his dick and he moans, masturbating at the feeling of his mouth full of another man’s cock.

“Oh, are you getting off to this, baby? I can hear you,” the man growls. The man’s hands move so they grip the top of the stall. “Don’t worry now babe, I’ll do the rest of the work. Just stay still.”

And so, Tristan does.

He keeps his mouth open as the man slowly draws himself out of his mouth, until only the tip remains. He gives a few, shallow thrusts in his mouth, before pushing himself all the way back in, filling his mouth up once more and reaching the back of his throat.

He increases his pace, thrusting in and out of Tristan’s mouth, using the stall door as leverage to thrust in. 

“Oh god, your mouth is so good, so good baby,” he tells him, “Your throat was meant for cocks, was meant for this.”

Tristan can only moan in response, his hand moving faster on his dick, his balls tight and his body hot. The cock moves in and out of his mouth faster, and he tries his best to move his tongue, hoping to catch more of that sweet precum that dribbles out of the other man’s cock.

“I want you to cum too, baby,” he says, grunting as he fills Tristan’s mouth up once more. “Cum for me, baby. I want to feel you moan against my dick.”

Tristan’s body did not need a go-ahead. It had been waiting for release since that morning. But the words are enough, and he ejaculates in his hand, and he moans around the other man’s dick. He hollows out his cheeks and spit drips down his chin. The sloppy, wet sounds mixed with the hard banging of the man’s hips against the door echo throughout the washroom.

The cum dribbles down from his hand onto the floor, staining his knees and he has to press a hand onto the door to keep his posture.

“Did you come, baby?” the man asks.

Tristan moans: yes.

He laughs, “Good, alright, here, I’m almost done, I’ll give you what you want.”

He pistons faster and faster, and Tristan tries his best to keep his lips wrapped around the dick. It presses against the back of his throat suddenly, and the man’s dick shudders between his lips. In a flash, he ejaculates down Tristan’s throat.

It’s too much, the cum that fills his mouth. It’s thick and salty, as if he has not had the luxury of cumming recently. The taste is strong, and all Tristan can do is accept it, swallowing the load as the man slowly draws himself out of his mouth.

But it’s not a bad taste…And the man’s dick continues to stare at him in the face. 

He coughs and the man laughs. “Do you think you could clean me up?” 

Tristan doesn’t think—he returns his lips back to the man’s tip, slowly running his tongue around the tip, sucking out anything that may remain. Tristan starts sucking more feverishly on the head—perhaps, he can get him hard again.

A wince can be heard, “All right, that’s enough.” Tristan watches as the dick is slowly pulled from the hole, and listens to the sound of him putting his dick back in. 

Tristan doesn’t know what he had been expecting. Why did he want him to fuck his throat again? Was he that enamored with the feeling of his dick in his mouth? He sits back on his heels, watching the hole patiently.

“After all, there’s always tomorrow.” Tristan’s eyes widen. The man doesn’t leave, rather, they wait in silence. 

“You will be here tomorrow, won’t you, baby?” 

Tristan responds by pressing himself back against the hole, thrusting his tongue out. He melts at the feeling of the man’s fingers on his tongue, drawing small circles.

“Good. I will see you, then.”

His fingers slowly pull from his mouth, and the door opens. Tristan is tempted to open his door and see the man that fucked his throat, but he remains there, on his knees, and waits until the man has disappeared. 

His mind is cloudy from the post-orgasm bliss. His fingers rise to his throat, reminiscing the feeling of a cock pressing against it.

He hadn’t liked glory holes. But here he was, settling down from the high of a man fucking his throat like some kind of doll. He was a filthy, disgusting degenerate who got off to being fucked in a bathroom stall. Treated like a hole and nothing else. His mind fluttered back to the compliments, of being told that his mouth was meant for cock-sucking.

Tristan sighed as his mind reminded him why he came here in the first place.

He didn’t care anymore—he pissed straight on his legs, letting it dribble down his knees and pool on the bathroom floor. He closed his eyes, savouring the wet feeling of the piss on his thighs, and the way it rolled down to his balls and ass, claiming anything it could find. 

The bathroom floor felt cold compared to the warmth of his own piss. He opened his eyes and studied the way it mixed with his own cum.

Letting out a big sigh, he slowly got up and attempted to clean himself up as much as he could with the toilet paper. He slipped on his underwear and pants.

That was enough for one day. 

\--

Despite his best efforts, he cannot forget the feeling. Throughout the night, his mind flutters back to the man’s dick in his throat. He cannot explain himself. He knows that he shouldn’t masturbate again, but his hands find his dick, and he opens his mouth, trying to replicate the feeling of the man’s cock with his own fingers. He remembers some dick-sucking scenes from doujins gifted by Osakabehime, and he crawls through them, only to find that the main appeal is the point-of-view character fucking some attractive girl’s throat.

Tristan sighs as he lays back against the pillows, dick hard and desperate. He pushes back down the thoughts and tries to rationalize. He knows that he probably should not come back. If rumours came out, then he would be shamed for his actions. Heaven forbid people start coming to him for sexual favours.

But.

His hand went back up to his throat, slowly tracing his jaw line before slipping his fingers between his lips. The fingers were not enough. 

He could not explain his reasoning. He had not even been one for dick-sucking, even when past female-lovers would service him. It appeared as if, through one fetish, he had found another.

He resigned himself to try and sleep.

That morning, he allowed himself the morning piss in the shower, but nothing else, leaving his boxers out and pushing down any thoughts to get himself off. He checked in with Ritsuka, making sure that he wouldn’t be needed for farming that day, and made sure to eat a light breakfast, just in case. His eyes kept on drifting up to the clock. He didn’t want to spend the entire day in the washroom, just enough so he could match things up with the other man.

His mind had been running through the possibilities, but he would gather more information today. He didn’t need to worry—he would find out the mystery man soon enough.

When it got closer to the time, he left his room, slowly making his way towards the tucked away washroom. He stopped to talk to a couple of people, trying his best to seem as normal as possible while the knowledge of what was to come in but a couple of minutes tugged at the back of his mind.

When he opened the door to the bathroom, he was once again greeted by silence. A quick glance under the stalls told him that yes, he was alone. 

He shot a brief look at himself in the mirror. Bags from the lack of sleep last night hugged his under-eyes, his skin seemed paler, his hair messier than usual. Tristan sighed and ran a hand through his hair, once again asking what he was doing. He closed his eyes.

Sad.

But he still moved back into the stall. Any of the mess that Tristan hadn’t fully cleaned up had drained away, thank God, and the bathroom stall did not smell. He turned around, quickly locking the stall, before putting the seat back down and sitting on it.

He waited patiently, trying his best not to reach for the cock in his pants that was, unfortunately for him, getting harder in anticipation. He ran his hands up and down his thighs, his fingers gripping into his knees. Tristan swallowed, closing his eyes and trying once again to focus. The guy would show up eventually, it was alright.

He let out the breath he was holding. Maybe it was good if the guy didn’t show up, anyways. He couldn’t just skip out whenever he wanted to suck a dick. His master needed him—and maybe, Ritsuka needed the other man. If the guy didn’t show up, he told himself, he would simply resign himself to not coming back. He would move on.

Tristan sighed and bit the inside of his mouth. 

The door opened and his heart jumped inside of his chest. He quickly moved down to his knees in front of the glory hole. He was unsure about how he should pose. He didn’t want to be too upfront, but well, that was what this was all about, right? One person helping the other with their needs. 

The stall next to him swung open, and he saw a figure cursing and trying to get his dick out.

He fished his dick out of his pants, trying his best not to touch it but instead letting it stand against the open air. Swallowing, he slowly pressed his mouth to the opening of the hole, drawing out his tongue and letting it fall on the other side of the hole.

The shuffling stopped, and Tristan waited patiently. 

“Oh? What do we have here?”

It was a different voice.

It was lighter and softer, without the gravel attribute compared to the other man. It was much more familiar—like it was a voice he heard frequently. But that meant one thing—this was not the other man.

He started to pull away, but the fingers pressed down against his tongue. “No, no, no need to pull away,” he said. Tristan could almost hear the smile on his lips, and the cheery chuckle drew Tristan back, returning his tongue to its original place. “I will always treat those who are obedient…Just as long as you’re not one of my students, right?”

Students? Tristan could not be considered anyone’s student, at least not here. He wiggled his tongue side to side: no.

He heard a sigh, “Alright, alright, you have been probably waiting patiently and you have been compliant, here.” Some more shuffling, before he felt the man’s dick against his lips. 

This man was much larger. He was not even fully erect, no, not even close, but his dick stretched his mouth open almost completely. The head also felt a different shape, like he maybe he was almost sucking off not a human servant…but something else entirely.

His mind quickly came to the conclusion of who this was: Chiron.

“Alright now, just keep steady,” Chiron told him. Yes, Tristan could definitely hear it now. He was often accompanied by Chiron during their farming days. And the way he spoke, he did sound like a teacher, guiding him and praising him as he slipped more of his dick in his mouth. His voice was rather distinct, too, perhaps his students would have figured it out immediately.

His dick was not very humanlike, but that was to be expected of a centaur, yes? While he must have been in his first or second ascension, he definitely still retained the cock. He swallowed, trying his best to accommodate, but Chiron definitely trumped the other man already.

“There we are,” Chiron says, “Now, try your best, alright?”

Tristan furrows his brow but licks the underside of the dick to tell him that it was alright. If Chiron thrusted slowly, he could definitely get used to the size of him.

He was not expecting what actually came.

A flood of warmth rushed into his mouth and he suddenly pulls away. He coughs, some of the liquid falling to his lap, while the rest he tries his best to swallow. He’s familiar enough with the smell to recognize what has happened immediately—Chiron has just pissed in his mouth.

He must have rushed in here due to the need to pee. He must have seen a mouth in a glory hole, and simply assumed that they were expecting piss…That’s why he kept on saying to try his best…

Tristan’s coughing fit stopped, and he wiped the tears from his eyes. When he could, he readjusted himself, looking down at the sorry state he was currently in.

The remaining piss had sprayed onto his clothes, and now his dick was wet with Chiron’s piss. It made his pants stick to his thighs, and his shirt had some yellow blotches on it now too. He would be unable to walk out wearing these clothes.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I just really had to go,” Chiron’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “It was rather strong, wasn’t it?” His dick is just slightly through the hole, and Tristan studies it, the way the cock curves, small droplets of piss escaping and dripping down onto the floor by Tristan.

He licked his lips.

The taste wasn’t bad. And Tristan was already well versed with having piss stuck to him.

He leaned forward, catching a piss droplet on his tongue before it fell and licking the slit again. He moaned, wrapping his mouth once more around Chiron’s dick.

“You want to try again? Well, alright, I’ll try to be gentler,” Chiron says. 

This time, his spray is gentler, and he lets it out in batches, so Tristan can swallow safely. It’s warm as it travels down his throat, and he finds he enjoys the feeling as it coats his tongue. Some dribbles out of his mouth, running down his chin to drip down onto his lap. He remembers the videos he watched in private and he cups his hands underneath, catching anything that escapes.

“There you are, that’s much easier, isn’t it?” Chiron asks. “Alright, I’m just going to let it out a little faster, alright? Feel free to pull back if you need to, but you are doing an amazing job here.” 

And so, the stream increases in its flow, but it isn’t too overwhelming, as Tristan does his best to keep up with the steady torrent of piss. He wishes that Chiron could see him, look him in his eyes as he drank his piss straight from the tap. It is a hose, coating his stomach with his piss and filling him up fully. His stomach starts to feel heavy.

How much piss did he have in him, anyways? Centaur bladders.

When it becomes too much, he pulls away, allowing himself to take deep breaths and swallow any remaining piss in his mouth. His body is warm and sticky from Chiron’s piss. He slurps up any remaining piss from his cupped hands before leaning forward and planting another kiss to Chiron’s dick.

“Good, good, you’re doing so well, there’s just a little bit left, alright?” Chiron sighs in relief as he starts peeing again. Tristan doesn’t wrap his mouth around his dick, instead angling himself so that it lands directly on his tongue, closing his eyes so none that bounce off hit him in the eye. 

Some piss flies off and hits Tristan’s dick, and so he adjusts himself, allowing the piss to hit his dick directly. It feels hot on his skin, and he soaks it up, watching as a small pool of Chiron’s piss develops on his thighs. 

The stream dies down, and with it, Chiron pulls his dick back out through the hole. 

Tristan blinks in surprise, but Chiron’s voice rings through before he can say anything. “Thank you, but I unfortunately do not have time for anything else right now.” His hand reaches through the hole and he runs his fingers over Tristan’s lips, wet with his piss. “You have been an amazing urinal, thank you. I’ll be back sometime, perhaps.”

His fingers draw out and after washing his hands quickly, he leaves the washroom.

Tristan studies the mess of himself.

His pants are now thoroughly wettened. The pool of piss slowly sinks into the fabric of his pants, and he pulls at it with his fingers, before letting it snap back and slap the skin delightfully. The floor around him is covered in piss, and when he adjusts himself, his ass feels wet. He grabs at it, moaning at the damp flesh underneath his hands.

His shirt is littered with piss stains, and when he looks down at his chest, it’s shiny and gleaming with sweat and piss. His face feels sticky but warm due to his own blush. The scent of piss that clings to him has overwhelmed him, and he still tastes it on his tongue when he swallows deep.

Tristan moves his hand down to his dick, still fully erect. He had considered partners pissing on him before, but he had not expected this. The torrent had been so strong, it was much better than anything he could have produced himself. And his dick was surprisingly massive…what could it be like if it was larger? How far could it go down? Tristan found himself tracing his throat with the other hand as he pumped himself.

The soft squelching noises of wet fabric echoed throughout the washroom as Tristan masturbated. He was using Chiron’s piss as his own lubricant. He panted to the ceiling, eyes closed, as he remembered the feeling of Chiron’s dick in his mouth, the constant flood of piss in his mouth, the warmth of his golden arc.

He comes in his hand, and smears it against his pant leg—they’re already ruined. 

Tristan sighs and rests his head against the toilet bowl. What was he doing? First, he sucks a dick of a man he still wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure the true name of. Then, he drinks a horse’s amount of piss. In the span of two days he had found himself at a much different place than he had started the week on. 

He looks down at the mess he’s made. He really should stop coming. 

He’ll just have to run back to the dorms as quickly as possible. He cleans up his mess and throws out his clothes. As he’s about to head out, he sees a small Greek-styled skirt on the counter. A gift from Chiron.

He throws it on—it covers enough. 

He quickly runs to the showers and cleans himself off before spending the rest of the day in his room. His mind flickers back to the other man and wonders if he had come in and waited for Tristan. He bundled himself up in his sheets to try and forget about it.

Tristan will not go back tomorrow. He’s decided. 

But that doesn’t stop his hand from curling around his dick as he remembers Chiron’s dick in his mouth. 

\--

Secrets don’t stay secrets long in Chaldea.

To say that Tristan was surprised that people knew by the third day would be an understatement, however. 

“There’s a glory hole, apparently,” Lancelot whispers into Tristan’s ear during breakfast. It takes him everything not to choke on his food.

“What?” Tristan asks, trying his best to keep the conversation between the two of them. 

“You know the bathroom by the janitor’s closet and stuff?” Lancelot waits for Tristan to nod, “Apparently, a hole’s been there for a long time, but only recently some guy’s been in there!”

“This is all rumours,” Bedivere cuts in. 

Tristan’s mind is going a mile a minute. How did people figure out in the span of two days? He doesn’t expect Chiron to have gone and told people, so maybe it was the other man? No, that would potentially destroy the thing—whatever it was—that they had going on. Did he not clean up his messes enough and the janitorial staff noticed? He knew humans to be chatty creatures, but was this really that interesting a piece of discussion?

Lancelot shrugs his shoulders and elbows Tristan in the side. “Maybe we have to go and investigate!” 

Tristan does his best job at showing disgust. “It’s a guy? No, I’m not interested in that. Now, if it were a pretty young maiden, or a married woman perhaps.” He winks at Lancelot and the other laughs. 

“You two are disgusting,” Bedivere sighs as he pushes away his breakfast.

Their King looks up from their newspaper, folding it onto the table. “If this is true, whoever it is must surely be bringing shame to Master.” Her eyes cut into Lancelot and Tristan, as if to say: if you get my name involved in this, I will kill you.

Lancelot takes the hint, and returns back to his breakfast. The topic is not brought up again.

\--

Tristan spends the morning doing training exercises, focusing on hitting dummies in order to distract himself.

But his mind continues to wander. He needs to change to his first ascension when his collar suddenly feels too tight against his neck. His fingers tangle in his bow’s strings and he has difficulty keeping footing. The dummies will never attack him back, of course, and he pauses his training to simply watch them.

Tristan does not need to go back there. Word has already begun to spread. If he stops now, then people will brush it off as a rumour, nothing more. He doesn’t know how many people are actually curious enough to go and see if is true. Of course, there are the two men who know that it is true, and whoever actually created the glory hole, and he can think of some people who would be curious enough to check. Merlin immediately jumps to mind—he wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who made it in the first place.

Plus, His King’s glare digs into his soul. He does not know what kind of punishment he would get from her if it would to come out. No, it makes sense for him to stop now. If anything, perhaps he can find Chiron one day and beg for more. Only if his desires continue to control him.

And they do control him. He was unable to do his morning routine that morning due to a restless night keeping him awake. He had to calm his thoughts when he had his first pee of the morning. Whenever he thought of their cocks in his mouth, or the feeling of their cum or piss down his throat, he had to stop himself and his erection poking through.

He looks at the analog clock in the corner of the training room. It’s almost lunch now. Most people would be heading out for lunch—if he was gone from his table, the other knights would know. So, with a sigh, he packs up and makes his way to the cafeteria.

He finds himself walking behind two male staff members on his way, who whisper amongst themselves. It does not take him a long time to realise what they’re talking about: him.

“Apparently, he gets off by being pissed on,” the first one says, cupping his hand so no one else can hear. Unfortunately for them, any heroic spirit would be able to hear their conversation just fine.

“Really? Wow, gross.”

“Really man? That’s what a glory hole should be—a hole that takes anything it’s given,” he puffs out his chest. The other rolls his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t want my glory hole to have piss lips is all I’m saying,” he replies.

“You’re missing out on the appeal of a glory hole, man.” He shakes his head.

There’s a brief pause, before the second whispers, “Do you think it’s a servant?”

“Oh definitely! You’ve read their stories, right? Some of these heroes, well, they’re sometimes known for being sluts more than being heroes!” The first laughs and brushes his bangs from his eyes. He stops, and Tristan slows down to hear him say: “Plus, these servants, they’re just tools, right? If anything, the staff bathrooms should all be fitted with a heroic spirit to fuck.”

The second one laughs, “That would be a great work bonus!”

Tristan walks past them, trying his best to appear unphased by their conversation.

His mind drifted to the sweet compliments the first man and Chiron had given him. The way those compliments made him feel—like he was doing a good job. He remembered the words of the first man, who told him his mouth was made for it.

Sure, in life he had been known for being rather flirtatious with women. His whole story revolved around his relationship with Isolde. This was how he was remembered, more often that over being a knight of King Arthur. 

Was this just simply fate? Something to do with his summoning?

He shook his head and simply pushed himself to go eat lunch.

The table was rather quiet. This would have been lovely any other day, but now it left Tristan with his own thoughts, and unfortunately, they kept on returning to that bathroom stall.

Everyone else seemed normal. Lancelot and Bedivere discussed their farming that day, while their King and Arthur happily ate their lunches. It’s only when Tristan’s eyes land on Gawain that he notices that he’s been staring at him, so he gives him a small wave.

“How are you today, Gawain?” he asks.

The sun knight shrugs, “I enjoy Master, but using my noble phantasm so many times in a row can be rather taxing.” He rolls his right shoulder, grimacing at the cracking noises that come with it. He turns to look back at Tristan, “How did you occupy your morning?”

Tristan swallows, “Just dummy practice.”

Gawain’s eyes glance down at Tristan’s hands. He hadn’t noticed, but the strings had left small cuts on his fingers. That wasn’t difficult—all Tristan had to do was use his healing skill and they had mended. But Gawain noticed and smiled, “Trouble with the bow today, Tristan?”

He blushed and occupied himself by pushing the food around on his plate, “My thoughts were elsewhere today. Sad, really.”

“I can tell.” 

And with that, Gawain excuses himself, and Tristan watches as he slowly makes his way out of the cafeteria.

Tristan’s mind is buzzing. Does Gawain know? No, impossible. Unless Gawain was the first guy? No, again that was impossible—he recognized Gawain’s voice too well, and he had many a time seen the man naked. It could not be him. Perhaps he simply noticed how his mind was elsewhere. Perhaps it was nothing. 

He looked down at his plate. He suddenly did not feel very hungry.

“I will return to my practice,” he tells the others, and they all nod and smile at him. Once he is out of the cafeteria, he materializes his bow. Partly due to distract himself, but partly so he can hold onto something to ground him.

He reaches a dead end. If he turns left, he will return to the training rooms. Likely, no one has taken up his room, and he can continue his practice. He reaches down at plucks at some of the strings.

If he turns right, he will reach the parts of Chaldea he has no reason to go to. Janitorial closets, catalyst rooms, and a washroom tucked away from it all. With the bathroom stall.

He glances around him. Everyone is still on their lunch break. No one is there to see what choice he makes.

He looks down at his feet. 

He shouldn’t go.

He shouldn’t go.

If he goes there, then he will just make things worse.

If he goes there, he may not be able to turn things around.

Word has already begun to spread. People are talking. Quell those rumours by not going.

Don’t go.

Don’t go.

His bow feels light in his hand and he grips it hard to remember that it’s still there.

Don’t go.

Don’t go.

He raises his head and looks down the hallway to his left. Tristan’s mind screams at him to go there, to go back to training.

But.

He raises a hand to his throat and runs his fingers slowly to his collarbones, down his chest, dipping into the cut in his chest.

He turns back to look at the cafeteria. His King’s eyes still seem to reach him now.

Tristan sighs and turns back around. He doesn’t even think.

\--

When he opens the bathroom stall, he is not alone. But he didn’t expect to be by himself.

The two stalls around the middle stall are taken. The occupants seem to jolt at his entrance. If he had cared anymore, he would have gone back and changed his attire so he wouldn’t be recognizable by his feet alone. 

The door has been littered with graffiti. Crude messages say things like, “Slut lives here!” and “Free Hole.” He suddenly feels like an advertisement—he’s a good and service, to be used by anyone if they like.

He swallows hard and steps in. There’s further shuffling by the two on either side. They must have been waiting to see if someone would actually enter the middle stall. Someone might have come in, realized that both stalls were taken, and would walk out. But no, this was someone entering specifically to be fucked.

Tristan wondered if anyone else was like him, if anyone else had taken up his spot due to the rumours. A shiver ran up his spine—for some reason, he disliked his hard work going to someone else.

Since yesterday, there had been some adjustments to the stall. More graffiti greeted him as he stepped in. A large, red arrow pointed down to the toilet, with the words “human toilet”. The toilet seat itself had some modifications—if anything, it looked more comfortable to sit on. If only they had made the flooring more comfortable to kneel on.

The main change was the removal of the toilet paper dispenser on the one side. In its place, a new hole. The hall was now fitted with two glory holes—one per side.

He turns around and locks the door, carefully taking off his clothes. A hook has been added to the back of the door and he takes this as an opportunity to hang his clothes up. Even if the floor was likely clean again, today he would not be sure if his companions would be as kind as Chiron was with clothes.

Once fully naked, he looks down at himself. It isn’t much of a surprise to see that he’s hard. Of course, he’s been thinking of this all day.

He does not know what to do, so he simply gets on his knees. He hears some shuffling from the door to the right, and so he turns to the hole, slowly bringing his lips to the entrance.

His lips are met with another’s, and he moans softly, feeling the other man’s tongue snake inside of his mouth. His lips are soft and his tongue agile, and Tristan does his best to keep as still as possible, letting the man conquer his mouth. Moans slip from his mouth, and he presses his hands to the door, wishing to reach through and touch the man who made out with him.

The lips pull away, but Tristan remains, opening his mouth and letting his drool slide down his tongue and hit the ground on the other end.

“Your lips,” the voice rings out, “You just came from my lunch.”

Another voice Tristan knows well from farming—and the lunch comments cements that Emiya is talking to him. 

“But you’re not full yet, are you,” he sighs softly. 

Tristan moves his tongue from side to side: no.

Emiya breathes out a sigh and suddenly, Tristan can feel his dick against his lips. He rubs it against them, and Tristan keeps his mouth perfectly still, despite the growing need he has to suck on it. He’s not hard—not yet. But he can do it, he can definitely make him hard, if only he slipped it into his mouth.

“Good,” he sighs. “Good boy.”

“Of course, you bring up cooking during this,” the other voice calls out, and it’s so similar that if it had not come from the other stall, Tristan would have assumed it was still Emiya talking. But it’s slightly lower, more strained. Tristan also recognizes this man—it must be his Alter.

“Shut up,” Emiya barks, “Everyone in Chaldea serves a duty. We cook.” He pauses, as if considering how much information he should give out. He returns to rubbing his dick against Tristan’s mouth, bucking softly against his tongue. “And this…this servant here…his job is extremely important. He is to relieve stress.”

“He’s a slut,” Alter reminds him. “He’s only here cause he wants his throat fucked.”

Tristan cannot ignore it anymore, his boner presses against his stomach. Alter’s voice is deep and commanding, and he moans at being called a slut.

Alter seems to appreciate this, as he growls, “See? All sluts are the same—that whore was the same.”

Emiya chooses to ignore him, slowly guiding his dick further into Tristan’s mouth. “He just needs some stress relief, don’t listen to him.” He has almost slid his tip in fully when he pulls out. Tristan can’t help but whine.

“But first…I heard of a rumour…Are you… Do you truly…” Emiya begins.

“He wants to know if you drink piss,” Alter interjects. “I told him that of course you do—you’ll take anything we give you, right?”

Tristan moves his tongue up and down: yes.

Emiya chuckles softly, “He said yes.” 

“Good.”

Tristan closes his eyes and waits in anticipation, and sighs as the warm piss slowly enters his mouth.

Emiya’s dick is pressed against his tongue, guiding the piss into his mouth. His stream is slow, and Tristan can feel his dick hardening. It must be a strain for him to get anything out, a strain to remain flaccid. He rewards him by drinking it all up, taking deep, hearty gulps, cradling the tip with his tongue. He savours the feeling of having his mouth up to the brim with the tasty golden liquid before swallowing it fully, leaving his mouth empty for a new stream of piss.

His dicks strains against his stomach, and he has to stop himself from reaching down and jacking off. He is unsure if they would appreciate him getting off before them, so he simply bucks slightly, hoping that his whines alert the two of how turned on he is getting by this.

A splash hits his ass and he pulls his away, only for Emiya’s dick to follow him through the hole. “Hey, get back here.”

“Sorry, I got too impatient,” Alter says, and suddenly Tristan realises what’s happening—Alter has started pissing on his ass. 

He moans, “It’s so hot.” He tries his best to change his voice, but it’s no use, it cracks and returns to his normal voice.

Alter chuckles, “My piss so good it got you talking? Whore.” 

“Just because he has started pissing on you doesn’t mean you are done here,” Emiya reminds him, and Tristan is guided back to his original place, and Emiya resumes pissing.

The feeling is overwhelming. While Emiya is delicate, his Alter pays him no mind. His stream is hard and hot against his ass, and he can feel it as it dips in between his cheeks and down onto the soles of his feet. The stream is lifted up, and he feels it cascade down his back, and he has to adjust to the new, ticklish feeling of piss between his shoulder blades.

It runs down his back and pools at his feet. It’s warm, like summer rain. A true golden shower. It sprays off of his shoulders and hits his arms, gets in his long hair, covers his backside completely. He concentrates on the area where it lands. Of course, an Archer is excellent at hitting their mark.

He returns to focusing on Emiya’s dick on his tongue. Perhaps out of jealousy, he has strengthened his stream, and Tristan works hard to keep up. He resigns himself to simply swallow as he goes along, despite how much he wants to savour the taste in his mouth and the warmth that pools there. Droplets dribble out, and he feels them stain his chin.

It feels like two completely different people are pissing on him, despite being from the same origin. He knows Alter well, from their time in SE.RA.PH. He knows his relationship to whores. He suddenly feels jealous, if he had known all this time, perhaps he would have asked for a rough treatment sooner. 

While Emiya feels like he’s being fed, with his stomach slowly being filled up more and more with his piss, Alter feels like he’s being punished, all of his pent-up desires being released onto his back.

And he loves it.

The hotness on his tongue and his back, the way the smell overwhelms him now, the taste on his tongue and the ticklish sensation as the piss dribbles down his back. If only he had eyes on the back of his head, so he could see the way the golden stream hits him like a water hose. Sad, really.

It’s no wonder that Alter’s stream dies off first. He shakes his dick of the remaining droplets and they hit Tristan’s toes. It makes him feel like he’s being baptized by the other man’s piss.

Emiya wraps up soon after, and Tristan is quick to wrap his lips around his head to suck out anything that remains.

“Fuck, you’re so considerate, thank you,” Emiya jokes, but his voice is strained, and Tristan feels the way he thrusts softly into his mouth. Tristan hums in response, sucking sweetly as he dips his tongue into the slit, searching for the last drops.

“You’re going to make me hard if you keep on sucking me like that.” 

Yes. Tristan moans: that’s exactly what I want.

“Looks like the slut wants our cocks,” Alter says. 

Emiya hums, “It appears so.” He starts thrusting his dick into Tristan’s mouth further, and he relishes the feeling of the man’s dick getting harder.

“I’m getting that bitch’s mouth first though,” Alter bangs his fist against the stall door. Tristan makes sure not to move, but Emiya withdraws his dick from the hole.

“Please, service him first,” Emiya says with a sigh, and looking through the hole, Tristan sees Emiya slowly jacking himself off.

Tristan hums and turns around, only to be greeted with a face-full of Alter’s cock.

Despite being very much the same person, Tristan hadn’t expected their dicks to be so similar. If he had not turned around, perhaps he would have thought this was some joke, but when he leans forward and gives the tip a tentative lick, it is definitely Alter who groans in response.

“C’mere, whore,” Alter orders and Tristan complies, following Alter’s dick until his cheeks are pressed against the stall door, and his tongue drops out. An open invitation: fuck me.

Alter positions his dick by Tristan’s mouth, and he feels the tip against his teeth. “If you bite, I break down the door.” Tristan curls up his tongue: I understand. “Good.”

He continues to play with Tristan’s lips, keeping his dick just out of range for him to suck on the tip. “You want me to skip the foreplay, don’t you? You just want me to fuck your silly little throat, use you up like the toilet you are. You’re nothing but a hole for me to use, right?” He groans when Tristan kisses his dick. “You’re a perfect cumdump, whoever you are.”

And with that, he spreads Tristan’s mouth open with his girth and forces himself fully down his throat. Tristan holds onto his knees to try and keep himself steady. He must remain still—if he is to be a perfect glory hole. 

His grip on his knees also keep him from touching himself. His dick stands painfully hard, and he wants nothing but to get himself off.

“Oh, you’re so good, your mouth was made for this! Look at how you take my dick, you’re a champ! What kind of dicks have you had in your mouth, huh? You take this too well—do you practice, slut?” Alter barks out insults as he thrusts in. His pace is rough and hard, and Tristan can hear the sound of his balls bouncing against the wall. 

His dick is wide, stretching Tristan’s mouth open so much it almost hurts. He’s harsh, he does not care much about how far he goes in, just about the friction against his dick. Tristan tries his best to service him anyway he can. He hollows his cheeks, runs his tongue around, hums around his dick and moans hard when Alter pulls out completely.

“You want my cum, don’t you? You’re still not full, even with a stomach full of piss, you need my cum, huh?” Tristan sucks hard in response. “Fuck, you’re so good for a hole!”

His pace quickens, and Tristan feels his dick start to weep precum in response. His mouth feels so full, and whenever Alter pushes all the way to his throat, he can’t suppress a moan. His dick is hard and fast, stretching his lips and coating them in spit and piss. His mouth feels tired, his head light, as if he could pass out at any moment, but he pushes himself to stay sitting upright. He closes his eyes, focusing on the intrusion in his mouth, the way it slides along his tongue, and the abhorrent slurping noises that resound throughout the bathroom.

When this man fucks him, he feels like nothing but a stress toy, here to get something out.

“Alright, your prize is coming soon,” Alter warns, and he starts thrusting up into the roof of Tristan’s mouth. He has to do his best to not accidentally bite him, and Alter relishes in the soft scrape of his teeth. 

His pace quickens, his thighs thundering against the door. He does not worry about pushing his cock all the way in, cumming whenever it hits him. 

His cum is viscous and difficult to swallow, it clumps up on his tongue and he can only swallow it all down once Alter removes his cock from his mouth. He backs away, coughing while wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Hey slut, let me see your mouth,” Alter barks, and Tristan quickly comes back to show him his lips and tongue. “Good, you swallowed everything.” He holds his tongue between his thumb and forefinger, before pulling away. Tristan hears him settle on the toilet seat, and he moves his mouth from the hole. “Your turn, Me.”

Tristan has no time to relax, as when he turns around, Emiya’s dick is waiting for him. It stands there, weeping precum, hardened by hearing his Alter face-fuck him. Tristan slowly crawls over, reaching up to slowly caress his gorgeous cock. It’s a twin of the one that was just in his mouth, and he feels like he’s greeting an old lover.

But Emiya does not thrust, simply letting Tristan take his time with it. His lips need it after the harsh beating they had just received, and he lets himself slowly lick around Emiya’s dick, leaving chaste kisses along the side. It’s wide, just like its companion, and Tristan is barely able to wrap his fingers around it. 

He lets it rub against his cheek, lets it tangle in his hair. He hears a soft fuck from the man he services, and he wonders how much Emiya has pieced together. Has he realized that he’s fucking his fellow Archer, Tristan? The same one who, hours ago, he had spoken to at breakfast? That man was now softly grabbing his dick.

He laps softly at the tip. Some of the piss smell remains, and he sucks at it greedily. He knows that he’s already gotten everything out, but he wishes to have the feeling of piss stick to him, to taste it once more. Emiya groans at the feeling, and Tristan thanks him for his patience by slowly taking more of him in his mouth.

“T-thank you,” Emiya says, “Please…” His voice wanes as Tristan moves up further. 

He twists his tongue around as he travels upwards. He savours the taste. It’s a mixture of the saltiness of his sweat with the remnants of piss. It’s delicious.

His lips relax and he starts moving faster, up and down Emiya’s shaft. If he wants him to go deeper, he doesn’t push for it, instead moaning and grabbing at the top of the stall in order to keep his footing. Tristan keeps on rewarding him, sucking hard and fast. He relishes in the feeling of his wide dick opening up his mouth, the way it pokes at the back of his throat, before he slides it off of his mouth. His mouth feels empty in these moments, and he quickly stuffs himself once more.

Tristan’s pace appears to be enough for him, as he feels Emiya’s dick get harder and harder. He praises him, “Yes, please, keep going. I’m…I’m almost there.”

The sudden knowledge that he will soon be getting his reward encourages him. He presses a hand down onto his belly—it feels warm and full, and eagerly awaits Emiya’s cum to add to the mixture. His dick is hard and he’s amazed he’s been able to keep himself from cumming for this long. 

Tristan moves his hand up to the base of Emiya’s cock, jacking off the parts that his lips cannot reach, and he hears Emiya moan in response.

“Yes, yes, gosh you know how to do everything, don’t you?” he asks. Tristan simply hums against his tip in response.

Tristan’s tongue moves quickly and he goes as fast as he can. 

Finally, his work is enough, as Emiya ejaculates into his mouth. He swears, his dick twitching against Tristan’s tongue that happily accepts its treat.

“Don’t swallow,” he orders, and Tristan has to stop himself. But there’s so much cum, more than Alter, and it fills his mouth. It dribbles out of his mouth as Emiya pulls out. 

“Let me see your mouth,” he says, and as best as he can, Tristan reveals his mouth full of cum. A soft chuckle escapes the other’s lips, “Delicious, isn’t it?” 

Tristan does his best ‘mhm’ with his mouth open and Emiya rewards him by pressing his fingers underneath his chin, closing his lips. “You can swallow now baby, good job.” And so, he does, savouring in the feeling of Emiya’s cum down his throat.

“We’ll be back,” Alter says, and Tristan is suddenly reminded of his presence. “Don’t move.”

And they suddenly disappear.

\--

Their hasty exit is explained when the door to Tristan’s stall is flown open.

He also knows this person—the gaudy King Gilgamesh.

The golden archer raises his eyebrow and smirks down at him, on the floor of the washroom, fully naked with cum and piss covering him. Gilgamesh crosses his arms and studies him carefully. 

“When I heard rumours of a disgusting whore who was servicing men,” he says, his insults cutting like a knife, “I had not expected you, mongrel.”

He raises an arm, and Tristan braces for impact, but the armoury of gold only opens in front of the bathroom doors. A bunch of chains cover the door, blocking any exit—or entrance. Gilgamesh wanted a private meeting.

It’s a gift to be alone with the king.

“Look at you. You are covered in men’s urine and seed,” he takes a step closer, and delicately presses his armoured foot on Tristan’s dick, still erect. “And here you are, on your knees.” 

His smile grows as his eyes sharpen, “You love this, don’t you, mongrel?” Tristan can only moan as he feels the man’s foot press down on his dick more. He appears to not appreciate that response, as he moves his foot away, and places his hands on his hips.

“I always advocate for living out one’s pleasures, but is this not too much, cur? Are you not satisfied?” He does not wait for Tristan’s response, instead moving closer so that his crotch is right in front of Tristan’s face.

“Well, lucky for you, the King is feeling generous today.” He dematerializes his armour, leaving him in his full, naked splendor. Bright red tattoos sparkle at him, and Tristan’s eyes drift down to his dick. 

He instinctively moves towards it, when a chain grabs at his wrist, keeping him in place.

Gilgamesh growls, “You are not allowed to touch.”

Tristan nods in response.

Gilgamesh smiles, “It is good to see a mongrel that knows his place. Here, let me reward you with the King’s gold.”

He sighs as he lets go, his golden rain arching before finally hitting Tristan in the forehead. With his wrist bound, and his other hand holding himself steady, all he can do is take it. It isn’t too strong, a delicate stream that cascades down his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, before dipping by his cupid’s bow. Some drips into his mouth, some runs down his chin and onto his lap.

He closes his eyes, savouring in the way that it hits him, but another chain around his neck jolts him awake. “Look at your king as you accept his gift,” he orders, and Tristan nods as much as he can.

So, his eyes lock on the tip of his dick, watching the piss escape. It’s dazzlingly beautiful, and the angle is almost too much. He can feel it hit his forehead, feel it as it runs its course. 

Gilgamesh’s smirk is infectious. This has what he has been hoping for—to look in the eyes of the man that claims him. 

And Gilgamesh knows this, “Is this what you were hoping for, dog? Look at how aroused this makes you—to look at your own master as he lays claim on you.”

Another chain appears and grabs his other wrist, and two more bind his legs. He’s immobile now, with his neck held so he can watch Gilgamesh as he pees on him. 

“Those other mongrels,” he draws out the word, “They were too afraid to show the others who you belonged to. This is not something to be ashamed of.” 

The last couple of droplets escape his dick and he shakes them out—onto his hair, his cheeks, his lips. The chains remain tight on his ankles and wrists. It feels hot on him and he licks his lips again, savouring the taste in his mouth.

“For this is simply using a urinal, yes?” Gilgamesh smirks as the Gate of Babylon opens up once more.

He reaches into one of the swirling golden lights, and pulls out a weird contraption. He walks up to Tristan, and in a couple quick motions, he wraps the contraction around Tristan’s head. “There we are.” His mouth is now open constantly, a sex toy to keep his mouth constantly available for use.

His chains lift him up and set him down onto the toilet, and bind them there. 

Gilgamesh does not try to fix the door when he leaves, smiling at his handiwork before leaving Tristan. 

\--

He cannot even touch his own dick. Any attempts at making noise falter due to the mask. The chains bind his movements.

All he can do is wait for people to come in.

The next is the berserker form of Lancelot. He does not expect to see his old friend here, but his King has little control over him, and he mostly does what he pleases. Whether or not he had even known of the glory hole situation was also for debate, but when he shows up, he seems to understand the set-up, quickly fishing his dick out of his pants, mounting him.

Lancelot finds his chest to be more enticing, as he positions his dick at the opening of Tristan’s cut and lets out. Tristan gasps at the sudden heat on his chest, and he watches as it runs down before settling at the base of his stomach. His dick is long and with every thrust he makes to try to get the rest of the piss out, the tip gets dangerously close to his mouth, and he wonders if the berserker will fuck his mouth next.

When he’s done pissing, however, he simply does up his pants and heads back out, leaving Tristan to soak up the piss on his chest.

He’s surprised to see Diarmuid pop his head in, but then when he sees Fionn after him, it makes a lot more sense. 

If the scene of Tristan, bound by Gilgamesh’s chains to the toilet seat, legs spread with piss and cum all over him, somehow perturbed Fionn, it did not show on his face as he waved to him. “Oh, Sir Tristan! I had not expected another knight to be such a slut!” While his words sting, his tone is joyful, and Tristan watches as Fionn’s hand snakes to grip onto Diarmuid’s dick through the bodysuit.

Diarmuid chokes, “M-my lord.” 

Fionn ignores him, pushing him forward until he stands in front of Tristan, with Fionn’s chest against his back. The blonde looks past him to stare at the archer, tied up and smiles.

“You see, Sir Tristan,” Fionn begins to explain, his fingers slowly tracing the outline of Diarmuid’s dick. “Diarmuid here, well, he also enjoys piss.” He carefully moves his hand down into Diarmuid’s pants and brings his lips to his ear as he tugs at Diarmuid’s cock. He seems to revel in the sight of his knight unbuckling underneath his grasp. 

Fionn returns his attention to Tristan. “When I heard of this glory hole, one who was more than willing to drink piss, well, a plan came to mind.” He removes his hand from his pants and dances his hand above his crotch.

“Diarmuid, as we discussed,” Fionn says. Tristan watches as Diarmuid slowly moves up to Tristan, stepping on the toilet seat so that he stands above of him, his feet in between Tristan’s spread legs. He seems to wiggle in place, and all Tristan can do with his bindings is look up at Diarmuid standing before him.

“That gaudy king has made this more difficult but, well, it’s not too bad.” Fionn walks into the tight space as much as he can, so that he is watching from a profile. His hand carefully cups Tristan’s face, tilting his chin up. 

“I have been making Diarmuid drink all day,” Fionn whispers into Tristan’s ear, brushing his hair with his fingers. “And look at him now, all ready to burst.”

Diarmuid lets out a whine in response. His hands grasp at his crotch. Fionn smirks. 

“Now typically, I just let him stand in the corner until he pisses his pants, but well, you open up a new opportunity.”

Tristan finally realizes what Fionn’s suggesting. From this angle, well, Diarmuid’s crotch is right above him.

Fionn laughs as Tristan’s eyes widen, “Oh, good, you have caught on! Perfect, then I shall not talk any longer. Diarmuid, if you will.”

Diarmuid nods, and removes his hands from his crotch.

Seconds later, he lets out a sigh of relief, and Tristan can only watch as his pants dampen above him.

It spreads, some piss staying at Diarmuid’s crotch, while some run down his legs, or travel around to his ass. Braided channels disperse down his thighs and Tristan can only imagine as they pool in his shoes. 

Some droplets now fall from his crotch onto Tristan’s face, and any that fall into his mouth he accepts. It’s strong—it must be his first piss of the day. Fionn must have been rather strict.

“Hm, this is not enough.” Tristan quickly glances over to see that Fionn also has his dick out, and he is gently getting himself off. “Diarmuid. Sit on his face.”

Diarmuid moves to protest, but Fionn’s look is stern, and so as awkwardly as possible, and trying to keep his balance, he moves so that his clothed crotch is on Tristan’s face.

The wet fabric feels rough against his face, and his nose is overwhelmed with the strong scent of Diarmuid’s piss. It’s hot and humid, and Tristan tries to lick at his dick from inside the suit as much as possible.

“I did not tell you to stop,” Fionn says, and Diarmuid nods, continuing his release of piss.

The amount that reaches Tristan’s face is much stronger now, and it dampens his face. Diarmuid bucks softly against his mouth, whining at the friction. 

Fionn had not been lying about making him drink a lot, as the liquid continues to come out. Tristan soaks up as much as he can, watching as Diarmuid’s pants become unable to contain anymore, and simply let the pee out. A small channel of piss forms, and Tristan drinks it up greedily. His dry throat thanks this sudden spring, and if his mouth were not open constantly, he would have brought his lips together, as if to suck directly from the tip.

“Look at you,” Fionn snarls. “Unable to keep it in, squatting to piss on a urinal. Look at the way you rub your dick against his face—does it feel that good? Are you a dog? No, a dog does not deserve to pee at a human’s urinal.”

“Get down,” Fionn orders and Diarmuid does. Fionn takes his place in between Tristan’s legs and slips his dick in between his lips. If the feeling is good, he doesn’t comment on it, rather focusing again on Diarmuid, who stands behind him in the stall. “Apologize.”

“L-lord?” 

“Apologize for having used a human’s urinal,” Fionn barks at him.

“I-I’m sorry.” 

A moan leaves Fionn’s lips as he bucks further into Tristan’s mouth. A flood of piss enters. It’s not too strong, rather watery actually, but Tristan does not expect a water-bender’s urine to be anything else. He holds his hips, thrusting his dick in as much as he could. “You see, Diarmuid, this is how a human uses his urinal. Watch closely.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

He smiles at this, before looking down to return his attention to Tristan. “You’re a very good urinal, Sir Tristan. If I had known, perhaps I would have kept you for my own personal use.”

He pulls his dick from his mouth, pointing his spout at his hands, cupping it. “Here,” he offers, and brings his cupped hands to Tristan’s mouth. “My piss cannot heal as much as water, but it should help. A thank you for your services.”

It does help with some of the weariness. His arms feel lighter, his lips looser. He nods as much as he can: thank you.

Fionn smirks and brushes Tristan’s bangs away from his forehead. “Well, thank you for our fun. Unfortunately, I am not able to remove your binds.” He plucks Gilgamesh’s chains. His emerald eyes move back to stare at him. “Plus, well, it is certainly delicious to see you squirm.”

\--

Night must have fallen, as fewer people arrive. Some show up simple to see the spectacle before leaving. A couple staff members shove themselves into his mouth, and as promised, Emiya returns, with some food. 

No one removes the bindings.

He has his eyes closed when he hears the door swing open again. He doesn’t open them, simply waiting for his mouth to be ravaged again. And yet, nothing happens. He hears the sound of clothing shuffling, and the click of, was that glass?

When the silence is too much too bear, he opens his eyes and is met with Paracelsus kneeling before him.

“Hello, Sir Tristan.”

Tristan nods in response: hello.

“I would say typically say, well, you are likely confused to see someone like me here. Well, I am sure you have met very surprising people already,” Paracelsus begins. His eyes settle on his bindings, “However I am not surprised by some.” His fingers dance along the golden chains, “He wants to parade you, I see.”

Paracelsus shakes his head and returns his attention to Tristan. He swallows hard.

“I must…admit that through my own studies, I have…well, I have acquired a certain…taste…” He picks his words carefully, and brushes his hair behind his ear. His golden eyes shine, and he pulls his lips into his mouth.

“If you would, I would appreciate it if you indulged me,” he begins, slowly moving closer and reaching his hand out to grab Tristan’s cock. It springs with life—he still has yet to come today.

“Sir Tristan,” he draws himself closer, “Please, piss on me.”

Tristan’s eyes widen with surprise. He had not expected this—especially not from Paracelsus. He studies the other, the white of his coat, his tight pants.

“And do not worry about having a lack of materials,” Paracelsus stands up and pulls something from a belt of vials on his hip. A test tube filled with blue liquid sparkles under the light. “I’ve been working on this. Do not worry, I have been trying it out for myself, it’s perfectly safe.” He uncorks the tube, and delicately pours its contents into Tristan’s open mouth.

The potion works immediately.

A sudden pang hits Tristan’s bladder, and he bucks from the toilet seat. Paracelsus’ fingers run across Tristan’s abdomen. “Ah yes, it must have worked, good, good.”

Paracelsus quickly puts himself back in his original position, in front of Tristan, on his knees. He grabs a hair tie and ties his hair up, revealing the soft porcelain of his neck.

“I apologize for asking such a rude thing of you, Sir Tristan,” Paracelsus begins, reaching down to cup Tristan’s dick. He moaned in response—his dick felt heavy, and he did everything he could not to pee at that moment.

“But I am also sure that it is likely not the most hideous thing that has been asked of you.” His fingers dance across his cock. “So please, would you?”

And so, he does.

It feels like orgasm. After a long day of denial, the sensation of something escaping his dick makes him moan against his restraints. He watches as his piss hits Paracelsus’s neck, hot and strong, before dipping down and running into his shirt. It sprayed off and hit his cheeks, landed on his lips, and his arms, yellowing the stark white cloth.

“Ah, yes,” Paracelsus moans, and moves Tristan’s dick so that it hits his chest. Tristan watches as the wetness spreads across.

“It’s so hot, Tristan. Do you not know of your own gift? Your ichor?” He did know—he had had tasted piss almost all day, but there was something about the way Paracelsus described it that made him moan. 

He dare not drink any, simply letting Tristan hose him down. Tristan watches as hair escapes its tie and gets splattered with piss.

“It is so strong, too,” Paracelsus comments, “You must have been waiting for release all day. Well, I have come to give it to you.”

Tristan watches as Paracelsus moves his hand down to his crotch, slowly rubbing the wet cloth. The dick print is noticeable now, and Paracelsus moans, relishing in the friction of the wet cloth against his cock.

Paracelsus lets Tristan’s dick drop, so that he can focus on getting himself off through his pants. Tristan’s arc now hits his stomach, and he studies as it pools there.

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes this is an experiment best shared, is it not?” He breathes out as he works his hand faster. He’s close, Tristan knows, watching as Paracelsus closes his eyes and his face twists in pleasure.

He isn’t even touching him—he’s only pissing on him. And yet, that is enough.

Paracelsus quickly comes in his pants, with a loud gasp, biting down on his lip. The last couple of drops hit his stomach as he descends from his high, and Tristan, chest heaving, watches his partner.

“T-thank you, Sir Tristan.”

He quickly gathers his stuff back up, before nodding and heading out. 

“If…if by chance, you are still here tomorrow…I may…ask for your services again.”

\--

He doesn’t need to open his eyes—he recognizes the voice.

“So, this is where you’ve been,” Gawain says. 

He materializes his sword and effortlessly cuts away Gilgamesh’s chains, which fade with golden dust. With careful hands, he reaches around Tristan’s head and pulls the mask off of his lips. Tristan rubs at his lips, suddenly free, and can’t help but cough.

“We were looking for you,” Gawain continues. He shrugs off his cape and places it on Tristan’s shoulders, before helping him get back to his feet. “I had thought…but I assumed due to the King…never mind, that doesn’t matter.”

His eyes settle on Tristan’s lips. He sighs and with a graceful swoop, lifts Tristan in his arms. “It’s 3am, I doubt many servants are up.”

Tristan nods and lets Gawain carry him. His body feels tired. He has not gotten much sleep with all of this. He allows his eyes to close for a second.

When he opens them again, he’s in Gawain’s room. His sheets are warm when he’s tossed onto them, but he can feel another body on it with him. He opens his eyes, and lying there, naked, is none other but Lancelot. The purple knight gives him a small wave and Tristan remembers his berserker form, pissing on his chest.

“The King will find out,” Gawain says. 

He knows that voice all too well. 

His friend stands above him, in all his splendor, with eyes angry and alight. He grabs at his head, pressing his cheek against his stomach. 

“You must be made an example,” he continues. 

A hand palms his ass and he feels Lancelot’s lips on his back. 

A smirk dons Gawain’s lips as he pulls Tristan’s head up, so that he can look him in the eye. “Well, shall we get started?”

**Author's Note:**

> WOW if you read all of that holy shit thanks??? my fingers hurt so much after that
> 
> i will not be accepting any more requests after this one BUT if you want a commission hit me up and we can discuss that   
> i basically threw all of the characters i wanted to use in a piss fic but wasn't able to before (fionn, gilgamesh, diarmuid)  
> this is the longest fic i've ever written. and it's for piss. i think i hate myself?  
> if you didn't get the first guy it's hector  
> also sorry for any ooc! some characters might be ooc but yeah, and i apologize any tristan fans, i have brain rot  
> i hope y'all are doing okay, stay safe, i love you


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